


A Promise You Were Never Meant To Keep

by arihime



Series: Nerelyn Surana [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and Surana have a conversation the night before the Battle of Denerim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise You Were Never Meant To Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Moving things over from my tumblr. This was originally posted there.

Neither of them really sleep that night, too anxious for what is to come. Surana should be sleeping; she needs to be in the Fade to replenish her mana, so she has all the power for the upcoming battle. Still, she can’t. Even in Zevran’s arms, her head resting against his shoulder, she’s afraid the demons will pick up on her despair and find her, make her an offer she’s not sure she can refuse. She dozes despite herself, lulled to sleep by the warmth and the calm of Zevran’s steady breathing. With her eyes closed, she can almost pretend that this is just any other night, that their journey to Denerim on the morrow is a simple trip to get supplies. It’s a nice fantasy, but not something she can keep up for long. She hates lying to herself almost as much as she hates lying to others.

  
Beside her, Zevran sighs and shifts, and Surana wonders if he can sense her discomfort. She’s been worried that he’d guess the source of her fears since she walked into the room, but for now he seems ignorant. Surana feels relieve and guilty in turn. She isn’t lying to him explicitly, but deceiving him still feels wrong. Worse still is what she’ll have to do once they reach Denerim. She prays that Riordan will be successful, but something in her gut tells her otherwise. If he falls, then she’s all that’s left. Of the three novice Wardens, she’s the one that’s most expendable; Maire and Alistair are going to rule Ferelden and make it better for everyone. Surana won’t risk that future just because she’s afraid of dying.

  
Not just dying, of leaving Zevran alone. Again. He’s already lost one lover; losing another would surely break him. Surana hates herself for that, for the pain she knows she’s going to cause with her death.

  
It’s almost—almost—enough to make her reconsider. But then she thinks of the Alienage in Denerim, of the mages trapped in the Circle, of all the changes the future king and queen will make, and she steals herself for what is to come.

  
Surana snuggles up closer to Zevran, banishing those thoughts from her mind, and his arm tightens around her in response. All that matters is this now, the two of them together, tangled up in bed. If this is to be one of her final memories, then it’s the one she’ll cherish the most.

  
She’s just drifted off when lips touch her forehead, and a hand glides through her hair. Surana opens her eyes to find Zevran staring at her, expression unreadable.

  
“What’s wrong?” She asks.

  
“Nothing,” he says, stroking her hair again. “I just—I want you to promise me something, _amora_.”

  
She pulls back, dread filling her. He knows how seriously she takes promises, and there on the eve of battle, there is only thing he can possibly ask of her

  
“What?” She is proud that her voice remains steady, even though fear pulses through her veins.

   
“Promise me that you’ll stay alive.”

  
Surana sits up slowly, distancing herself before he can hear how loudly her heart is pounding. What he’s asking her is impossible.

  
“Zevran. . .” She starts, willing the words to come. “You know I can’t promise that.”

  
“Because of the uncertainty and your own rule about promises, I understand. But surely an army of darkspawn is no match for one who can call a storm with a thought?” He smiles at her, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Think of this as added certainty. You never break a promise, no?”

  
“Zevran.” She says, but still words fail her. She shakes her head.

  
“Now is no time to be modest, _amora_. The darkspawn have never caused you much trouble before. You will live, and then there will be a great celebration afterwards. Can you imagine all the dancing? And all the food. Certainly you will want to see that.” His tone is light, but there’s an underlying desperation that he isn’t even trying to hide.

  
“Please, _amora_ , promise me you’ll stay alive. I want to see you dance.”

  
Part of her, the exhausted part, wants to laugh at the irony of it all. She can’t make a promise she knows she’ll have to break, but she can’t lie to him, either. And she surely can’t tell him the real reason.

  
(The rest of her wants to cry.)

  
When she says nothing, Zevran’s smile falters. He sits up and reaches for her.

  
“Surana?”

  
She’s moves before she realizes it, pushing herself up and against the headboard, as far away from him as she can get in the little space. Running away, as it were, because it’s the only option she has left. She ducks her head, unwilling to let him see the tears forming in her eyes.

  
“Zev—”

  
“No!”

  
It’s not a true shout, but something close to it, and Surana flinches at the pain in his voice. He surges forward and follows her, hands coming out to grip her arms tight enough to bruise.

  
Zevran drops his forehead to hers and keeps it there until his breathing has calmed. His hands loosen on her arms, and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet.

  
“No. Stop acting like you’re going to die. You have your power and the armies and the other Wardens, and I will put myself between you and the world if it means you come out of this alive. So stop— _brasca_.

  
“Please. I cannot lose you. I refuse to even consider it.”

  
His eyes are bright in the dying fire light. She can see his fears there clear as day.

  
“Promise me, _amora_. Promise me that you’ll live, and that we’ll go to Antiva when this is all over.”

  
_No._ She thinks, but the words die in her throat. She can’t lie to him this blatantly, can’t give him hope only to take it away, but she can’t say no either. Already, he looks heartbroken and desperate, and she won’t make him suffer anymore.

  
She doesn’t want his last memory of her to be a painful one. If that means breaking her own principles, then so be it. Anything to wipe the sadness from his eyes.

  
“Alright.” Surana whispers, ignoring how her own heart starts cracking. He blinks in surprise, but there’s hope in his face as well. She takes comfort in that, uses it to push the rest of the words out. “I promise to stay alive. But you have to promise me something in return.”

  
“And what is that?” Already his expression has lightened, the playful air back in his eyes and voice. This is what she wants her last moment to be filled with, and it almost makes everything worth it.

  
In answer, she kisses him, long and hard. His reaction is immediate; one hand moves to the small of her back, and he shifts them until she’s straddling him.  

  
“You can’t die either. Please Zev. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me.” She kisses him again. “Please.”

  
“I promise.” He breathes.

  
They don’t speak again until morning.


End file.
